


We have History and Chemistry

by sunflowerwithfeelings



Series: Johnlock Oneshots [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chemistry Teacher!Sherlock, Fluff, History Teacher!John, I APOLOGIZE, M/M, Teacher AU, but i did rip on it a lot so bare with me here, i did it based on the american school system, mentions of underaged drinking eh, the students ship it, valentines dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:41:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9294842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwithfeelings/pseuds/sunflowerwithfeelings
Summary: After a History professor quits his job weeks before school starts, John is hired and meets the most hated teacher in the school, Mr. Holmes. Mid-way through the first semester, he can see why he's hated as his students come into class like the walking dead. Mr. Holmes proposes a small experiment after John scolds his teaching style, that ultimately brings them closer together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with the American school system in mind because that's the one I'm in but, to make up for the unfortunate circumstance, I dissed it. Heavily. 
> 
> Anyway, this was incredibly fun to write so I really hope you enjoy it!

  
“We're sorry Dr. Watson…” One of his students whined as he entered.

John stepped foot in his room and felt like he'd been pulled into the zombie apocalypse, all of his students groaning and moving very slowly in their desks. He immediately started to scan their blank, almost lifeless faces. John’s feet met the rug in the center of the classroom as he stood and thought this over. This was his advanced class, which only meant one possible explanation.

“Really? _Again?!_ Does this man ever give you a break?” John asked, very irritated now. He walked over to his desk and began to tap away at the computer.

“I wish he would,” other students said, their heads laying groggily on the desks.

“That would be beautiful,” another hummed from across the room.

“Well…” John said, his gaze washing once again over the sea of half-asleep AP history students. “I guess I can move back today's lecture, but that means we work twice as hard next class!”

A sigh of relief erupted from the students, the awake ones at least. A girl in the front row sluggishly nudged her friend next to her, but with no avail. She softly shrugged and planted her head in her arms, her eyes eventually closing.

This is the third time this has happened to his students, and he knew which particular teacher to blame. His advanced placement students naturally chose advanced placement for an assortment of other classes, AP chemistry being one.

John sighed and rubbed his temples, his hands slowly making their way down his face and eventually finding themselves in his lap. He was going to say something this time, he absolutely was. John got up from his desk and walked over to the door. Opening it, he shut the lights off and letting the door close in on itself, took off down the hall.

The culprits lab was just at the opposite end of the hallway, the walking from point A to point B seemed incredibly shorter now that John was heated. He was tired of how teachers had been treating their students, especially this one. He worked them relentlessly and it had been taking a long-term effect on their performance and work ethic.

He’d gotten just outside the door before he heard it.

_It._

_The violin playing._

The history teacher was well informed by colleagues, and prior experience, that this was a habit of the other, playing sporadically throughout the day. However, nothing would prepare him for the actual music. This piece in particular seemed to whisper in his ears gently, smoothing over nerves and telling his shoulder blades to relax. John took a deep breath and stood, listening to the intoxicating music just on the other side of the wooden door. Peaking his eyes in through the window of the door, he noticed there were no students in the lab tables. He smiled then immediately snapped out of the trance he seemed to be under.

If he had no audience, who was he playing for?

John pressed his hands onto the icy metal handle of the lab and entered, the music not faltering at the sudden intrusion. His eyes made their way past the lab and to a tiny corner on the opposite side of the room. A couch with a black and white pattern lounged in front of a yellow table that held multiple pens and papers. Besides the table stood a music stand, stark black against the white floor and walls. The figure loomed above the music stand, a violin tucked neatly in between fingers.

“Hello Dr. Watson.”

\----------

John’s finger tips fiddled with the last cardboard box he'd packed and neatly folded it behind his new desk. Decorated with books and texts from around the world, John’s desk matched the rest of his room, colorful and foreign. It was his first year teaching at Baker Street High School, as the professor before him angrily quit weeks before the year could begin. He was hired frighteningly quick after his interview and started to set his plans for the year into action. Tapping his fingers on a new book he intended to start reading, Les Misérables, his eyes spotted the standard black clock on his wall.

He got up from his red spinning chair and headed towards the front door, feeling the bright red and gold Afghan rug underneath his shoes as he walked, a gift from his friend Mike. The door handle was cold as he pushed down and exited, the tile of the flooring giving the same icy appearance. John’s shoes gave a small thump against the floor, his hands folding themselves into his pockets. There was to be an obligatory teacher and staff meeting that morning, the new school year starting the next week.

It felt good for John, to be back in a place that was almost familiar to him. Before getting a chance to throw himself out into the world, him and some of his buddies took a trip around the world, picking up many souvenirs that now lay on display in his classroom. History, world history specifically, was so fascinating to John. The way people and countries react and form into the way they are today was an evolution John enjoyed studying and seemed to always find ways to continuously learn more about.

He entered the staff room, many familiar faces looking around and waiting for the rest. John spotted an empty seat near a happy brunet, her hair tied gracefully into a ponytail. She smiled at him and started up a decent conversation.

“You're the next world history teacher right?” She asked.

“Yeah,” John replied nodding his head.

“My name’s Molly by the way. Molly Hooper. I teach psychology up in the third floor.”

After she said this, the door opened again and in walked a tall man, dark curls sprouting from his head. He wore a grey button down shirt that looked a little too expensive for a teachers salary. John found himself staring as the man made his way to across the room, seating himself at the back of the table. John saw Molly’s head turn and she shot a glance at the man, he simply stared back, looking uninterested.

“Who's that?” John asked Molly, slightly leaning into her.

“Him? That's Mr. Holmes. He teaches AP Chemistry, I know him because I used to be across from his science lab until they moved me. He's...well,” Her head spun around again, checking to see if anyone else was listening.  
“…he's different. He's best friends with his students but they all seemed to hate him just as much as some of the teachers. Take that for what you will,” Molly said.

John nodded and looked away, suddenly a pair of eyes started to scan him, feeling their way from his head, to his shoulders, to his hands that were folded underneath the table. He didn't make any physical sign of being uncomfortable, as the light talking that filled the staff room air slowly came to a hush when the principal, Ms. Hudson walked in.

“Now, I’m looking forward to this next school year as much as you all are.” Ms. Hudson chirped, taking her position at true front of the table. “Our test scores last year were better than ever, and this year we strive for the same. But this year it seems as though we will have a lot more students coming in than anticipated. Be prepared to have slightly larger classrooms than usual. Now let's go over standard procedures and such-”

John started to slowly tune Ms. Hudson out; although he knew that wasn't the best idea, him being fairly new and all. However, his eyes wandered all over the room, scanning faces of the teachers, some paying attention some not. His eyes again locked on the darker figure in the room. Mr. Holmes’ skin was like that of a porcelain doll, his features strong and present. There was a hypnotic and pulling atmosphere that came from the contrast; his light skin and his dark accessories. Something about him intrigued John and John didn't know why.

Snapping out of his mindless state, John turned his attention back to Ms. Hudson who wasn't there anymore. John noticed the same quiet chatter that had been in the air before Ms. Hudson came was up again. Teachers and staff weaved in and out of chairs discussing topics that John only listened for a moment in, finding himself quite bored.

With that, he left the staff room and immediately buried himself within his classroom again, his book seeming a little more interesting than co-worker gossip. The novel he dedicated himself to was decorated with white covers and a thick, red spine that had golden letters engraved into it. John figured that after reading, he could potentially make friends with the drama teachers. He also wondered if the French teachers would be interested, his own French being a bit rusty after not using it since his trip to France.

While reading, his body refused to stay in one spot, comfily tucked into his chair, so he roamed the classroom as his eyes went from line to line, an old habit he never got rid of. John began to lightly hum when he heard faint, charming music coming from down the hall. He was sure he'd slipped out and had been the only teacher to leave early, so who had music playing?

He darted his eyes into the hall, seeing nobody except a door hung wide open at the very end of the hall. John started to wonder and shuffled along the white tiled floor, following the entrancing music. His eyes darted back to the pages as there was nothing, or nobody, in the hallway for him to bump into. The music added to the novels grand imagery and tone, wrapping John more into the moment than he expected. He found himself adding a slight side-step while he walked, nothing too extravagant as the book was very heavy.

John looked up and saw he'd already carried himself through the long hallway and to the open door, music still streaming through. He dog-eared the page and made his way to the doorway, catching sight of lab tables and stopping in his tracks.

He stood there while his brain made connections, his body staying very statuesque. He heard the music grow slightly louder but he couldn't seem to move, his book now feeling like pure cement. John's feet melted like wax and stayed glued to the floor as the footsteps from inside grew louder. Then on the opposite side of the doorframe, John locked eyes with the man from before, Mr. Holmes, who seemed to be playing the violin instead of listening to a recording of it. They held eye contact for a brief moment before Mr. Holmes dropped his violin to the side and looked John over again.

“How long did you plan on standing there?” He spoke, his voice deep and velvety.

“I-I...um,” John fumbled around for words, his eyes too busy focusing on the man in front of him. “Not long. I heard the music down the hall,” He pointed with his arm stretching behind him. “And I thought I’d come by to see who was playing it.”

“Ah, yes. You're the new history teacher, right?” Mr. Holmes asked his head tilting slightly.

“Yes,” John said, his body finally allowing him to move. He swayed a little, his free hand running down the front of his jeans. Mr. Holmes didn't reply, he just gave a nod and light hum. John spoke up, “you teach science?”

“Chemistry. AP Chemistry.” Mr. Holmes corrected him. Of course, John knew this but he didn't seem to want to the conversation to end. “Can you speak French?”

“Uh, I haven't used it in a long time but yes.” John said nodding his head. “How do you know-”

“Les Misérables, in your hand. Lots of words they can't translate are in the unabridged one, which I see you have. Abridged is only 416 pages long, yours is longer, looking to be about 1,500 which is how long the unabridged one.” Mr. Holmes said as he turned around and walked further into the classroom. John didn't know if this was a hint that he could enter the class or if Mr. Holmes was going to come back. “You can come in,” He responded as if he were reading John’s mind.

“Brilliant…” John muttered.

Mr. Holmes turned to walk away but froze in his path, his brain registering what John had murmured to himself. He looked back at John, who was like that of an excited puppy.

\-----------

“Hello Dr. Watson.”

“Hello Mr. Holmes,” John mimicked. He was still irritated but now much more calm. Mr. Holmes turned and walked back into his lab, John trailing and standing awkwardly once Mr. Holmes plopped himself on the small couch on the opposite side of the room. “I came here to-”

“I know why you're here,” Mr. Holmes said as his eyes darted from the ceiling to John who stood in front of the yellow table.

“How could you possibly-”

“Because you teach mostly all grade levels, the only reason you're here is most likely to talk about students and since I refuse to teach anyone but the oldest and most mature out of the bunch, you must be teaching your advanced classes right now. I just gave all my advanced classes two projects due tomorrow and prep-work for an upcoming lab. Judging by your facial expression, you didn't get to go through with your lesson because all of your students are either working on my assignments or asleep. You've come here to tell me that my teaching strategies are absurd and that I should be less cruel to them.”

During some point of Mr. Holmes deductions, John’s mouth flapped open and hung there until he was done. John stood up and wiped the impressed expression off of his face before Mr. Holmes could look at him again.

“You're right. So will you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?!” John asked, not surprised in the chemistry teacher’s response.

“Because, Dr. Watson, I have an effective teaching strategy that has worked for me and many of my students for as long as I've been teaching. Many of my students have gone on to be tremendously brilliant scientists and doctors, data concludes that my methods are perfectly fine. We’re midway through this semester, by the time it's out the students will know whether they want to be in my class or go flocking to Anderson who can't teach for crap.”

“Mr. Holmes!”

“It's true Dr. Watson!” Mr. Holmes said sitting up and facing the blond. “I'm abnormally cruel to them not because I want to, although it is fun to watch them squirm, but because I want the best possible results. Through the years my constant pickiness and all around abruptness has shaped the best of the best.”

“Mr. Holmes they're falling asleep in my class! The only results you're getting from them is lack of productiveness and a drop in work ethic because they can't work and yawn at the same time. I'd hate to see them around finals...”

“My results for my class are the only results I’m worried about. This was the problem with the last history teacher! ...As long as in here they're performing up to par, I really don't care about any other classes.” It was at this time that Mr. Holmes stood to his feet and began speaking to John at eye level. “I've been teaching long enough to know what does and does not work and I’m not going to change anytime soon.”

John was silent for a moment, letting Mr. Holmes words soak into him. “I can't say I didn't try.”

A slight anger festered itself on John but he quickly put it out and exited the lab, his feet thumping loudly on the tile. He opened the door to his room, many of his students still asleep. John smiled to himself and walked back to his desk. A sense of guilt and loss sunk further into his stomach when he heard a soft snore from a student in the back of his class. He propped his feet up and opened his book, making sure not to dwell on the conversation.

  
The next day John came into the school, he made his way up the stairs and waited until the bell rung for him to greet his first class of the day. They slowly started to trickle in, this class being upperclassmen. He started with his lesson and lecture, the students being silent yet focused for that early in the morning. The day went on and John was soon met with his round of AP students, now more lifelike since he last saw them.The bell rang and John was seated at his desk, the class focused and more alert than normal.

“Dr. Watson?” Called a girl from the back, her hand raised slightly. His eyes immediately picked her out so she continued. “Is it true that you talked to Mr. Holmes yesterday?” Her question asked in a threatening and secretive fashion, as if to expose John.

John suddenly remembered the previous day's encounter. He sighed and turned his head towards his computer. “Yes, I did.”

“What did you tell him?” She asked.

“Nothing much because…” John paused for a slight moment. It wasn't ethical to talk low about co-workers especially in front of students so he opted for a better response. “because he kept playing the violin. Lovely music, just couldn't really get my full point across after listening.”

John’s eyes were fully on his computer so he didn't see the way half the classroom lit up. They quietly whispered amongst themselves but became silent once John pulled up a powerpoint and stood up. He chose to ignore their eyes that seemed to stare right through him as he gave his lecture, he felt like he was speechlessly being interrogated by his own students.

The bell rang and the class made it their life’s mission to get out of the classroom as fast as the doorframe would allow them to. John started to aimlessly wander around his classroom. A whiteboard hung on the right wall, windows in the opposite. The desks were arranged in rows in the middle and behind them, brown comfy chairs sat with a little wooden table between carved with different symbols. On either side of the chairs, two shelves lay with small figures of Buddha, different world religion’s text, and some foreign accessories. A japanese fan splayed out on the wall next to a painting that matched. A French, British, and Chinese flag all hung together in a striped pattern. Everything in the room had a story and meaning to it, whether it be personal to John or not.

As he was reminiscing, John heard a knock on the metal door frame. He turned his head and saw Mr. Holmes leaning up against it and smirking as John and him locked eyes.

“Hello, do you need something?” John said as he cleared his throat. He weaved in between desks until he stood on the carpet at the front of the room. He watched as Mr. Holmes took his eyes off of him and scanned the room, wide and curious.

“No, no, I just..need your help.”

“My help?” John said shocked as his hand flew up to his chest. The dramatic gesture caught a smirk on both men's faces.

“Yes, I need your help. It's something for my students, a break from the strenuous activities, I thought you might appreciate that.”

“Mmm yes thank you. I’ll help you,” John answered as he went to his desk and grabbed his keys and his phone, he knew after whatever Mr. Holmes wanted, that he'd be going out to lunch.

“Excellent, follow me.”

Mr. Holmes and John walked down the hallway, John careful not to bump into anyone, Mr. Holmes like a bulldozer, not moving from the path he was on. When they entered Mr. Holmes lab, John noticed a black coat hanger that he didn't not notice before. Hung onto it was a long black coat and a navy blue scarf.

“Do you actually wear that?” John asked as he pointed to the clothing articles.

“Ye- John, you insulting my clothing style isn't the reason why I brought you in here you git.” Mr. Holmes said as a slight accent hinted itself in his speech.

‘Git?’ John thought, although the didn't press the topic.

He smiled and ignored the comment, continuing to follow Mr. Holmes to a table set up with different lab equipment. A bunsen burner lay next to some weird tongs John didn't recognize. Different test tubes were set in a wooden holder that were full with different colored solutions, ranging from dark brown, to clear, to blue. Mr. Holmes started moving things around and shoved a camera into John's hands.

“Everytime I stick something into the flames, take a picture for me.” Mr. Holmes said.

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

“You couldn't have had one of your students do this?”

“No, I don't have a class right now. Also, you just so happen to be the closest person.”

“But I'm all the way down-”

“John, I'm starting get ready!” Mr. Holmes protested.

John hadn't noticed but Mr. Holmes had grabbed some flat wooden sticks and stuck different ones into each test tube, along with a pair of goggles. Taking the strange looking tongs, he put one soaked stick over the flame. The fire instantly turned into a bright blue with blaring shades of green as well. John quickly snapped a picture with the camera, his eyes glued to the rapidly changing flames. This process was repeated multiple times till there were no more sticks, Mr. Holmes turning the burner off and John setting the camera down on an empty lab table.

“Is that all?” John asked as Mr. Holmes began to clean up, his mind neatly filing away his observations.

“Yes,” Mr. Holmes said over his shoulder. He heard John tread lightly away and called out again. “Wait.”

John stopped and looked at Mr. Holmes, “Yes?”

“Call me Sherlock.”

John ears rang a bit when he said this, the palm of his hands starting to grow very sweaty. “O-Okay.”

‘Why did I stutter?’ John thought.

“Goodbye John.”

“Goodbye, Sherlock.”

\----

  
John was messily rummaging through his students papers that lay scattered along his desk. One of his students waited patiently besides his desk until he found his paper. He slowly became flustered with himself, murmuring under his breath something about borrowing a filing cabinet from Sherlock. This suddenly peaked the students attention.

“Who's Sherlock?” They asked, eyes staring down the flustered history teacher.

“What-oh, I meant Mr. Holmes.” John admitted, his conscious not paying attention to the words he said and instead focused on where the paper was.

“Yanno, I can come get the paper after class Dr. Watson, it'll be okay.” The student said as they shuffled back to their seat and whispered something to the person next to them, although John didn't notice.

The bell rang and John made sure all of his students left before he exited the class. The hallway where his classroom was located was still very cramped and busy so he took the longer way around. He stopped in front of Sherlock’s door and placed his hand onto the cold metal handle before pushing down and entering.

Nobody was in the lab, at all. The door was unlocked and the lights flipped on and yet no one stood in the grand room. John realized that from the overhead speakers, the tune to an instrumental song he knew was playing. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, although he seemed to want to hum along with it.

It wasn't until John had scanned the entire area that he saw that the light to the back room of the lab was on. Just as he did, he saw Sherlock emerge from there, a lab apron dangling from his shoulder. He eyed John and nodded, acknowledging his presence in the room. Sherlock hunched in front of his computer that lay in another corner of the room and turned off the music, spinning back around and resting on the desk.

“Yes?”

“Do you have an extra filing cabinet or something? My papers are everywhere at the moment, nothing too big though.” John asked.

Sherlock jumped up and walked behind his desk, lifting a small black filing cabinet from underneath.

“Will this do?” He asked.

“Yes, perfectly thank you.” John answered, a smile decorating his face.

“Before you have this, I need a favor-or more, I want to try something.” Sherlock said as his arms rested on the black metal.

John raised an eyebrow at this, “What do you want to do?”

“I want to watch you teach,” Sherlock said, his face emotionless except with a faint pink resting on the tips of his ears.

“Ha!” John laughed, his hand coming up to cover his cheek. “You, Sherlock Holmes, the greatest teacher to ever live, wants to watch me teach?! What for? Are you going to commentate on how badly of a job you think I’m doing?”

“Hardly,” Sherlock replied. “I've taken your argument into consideration so I will observe what you do instead, since my work is too strenuous apparently. In return, you will get to keep the cabinet and you must come and watch me teach.”

“Come and watch you? You're turning this into a competition,” John insisted.

“No, no competition John.”

“Huh,” John said, his shoulders lifting and falling at the noise. “Okay, sure.”

Sherlock lifted his hands off of the small filing case and let John heave it up and into his arms. He smiled and began to walk out of the room, the case adding weight into him. The door was open from the earlier entrance so Sherlock stayed and watched John walk out. He smiled to himself, looked down at the floor, and sat down in his desk. His hands rested on the computer mouse as he clicked ‘play’ to the music he was once listening to, the instrumental soundtrack to Les Misérables.

\------------

“Turn to page 86 in your AMSCO book and you'll find-” John was interrupted by a phone vibrating on a desk. More specifically his phone vibrating on his desk. “You'll find a chart that you can pull information from. For questions 15-20, you'll have to use another source. I have multiple books on the shelves but if you use the internet, I’m going to need an MLA citation format for each. Any questions?”

The class sat quiet, everyone knowing what they're supposed to do. John nodded his head and the students began to chatter amongst themselves, some getting up to get a book off of the shelf, some partnering up with someone. John heard some healthy conversations going so he walked to his desk to let the little geniuses work. He checked his phone and rolled his eyes as he read the text.

Sherlock: **I'm bored.**

John laughed and he scrolled down to see the recent message, from a minute ago.

Sherlock: **I'm coming to your classroom now.**

It was too late for John to reply because he heard the door open, some of the students attention instinctively turning towards it. The class grew semi-quiet as Sherlock entered, his gaze wandering over the class until he spotted John. He let the door close behind him and he walked up to the other man's desk. John saw the students eyes follow Sherlock across the classroom, he didn't know how Sherlock wasn't utterly uncomfortable by it.

“Get back to work,” John said as his gaze flickered from Sherlock to the class. As he did, conversation started again and soon the students resumed normal tone.

“It's loud in here,” Sherlock said as his head looked over the class again.

“I guess. Uh, pull up that chair and I’ll show you what they're doing.” John said pointing to a chair, similar to his, that was against the wall.

Sherlock did so except he looked a little too tall for the thing. John smirked at the awkward man, Sherlock giving him a questioning expression. He ignored it and spun around in his chair, fishing into his bag and grabbing the classes textbook. On the cover was a sunset, the outline of a ship in the distance. John had sticky notes stuffed in at all directions, future lesson plans. He opened to page 86, all the text completely color coded. Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as he scanned over the page that looked like a rainbow threw up on it. There was a table that held information, John’s personal connections and notes scribbled into the margins in a purple pen. Sherlock grabbed the book and putting his index finger as a marker for page 86, flipped through to see most of the book colored in the same fashion.

“Every color has a meaning,” John said as he grabbed a red pen from a cup he had on his desk.

“I see. Do the students look at this?” Sherlock asked.

“Only always! As a reference of course. Especially during the after school study sessions, they practically rip the thing in half trying to look at it-”

“After school study sessions?” Sherlock’s expression read shocked and horrified.

“Yes Sherlock, study sessions. I want my kids to learn and have fun doing so because that's the best way to learn--History that is. It's the best way to learn history.” John corrected himself as he pulled out fives large sheets of paper, color and writing covering all of them.

“What are these?” Sherlock asked, sticking his head more into John's space so he could see the papers more.

“These are their projects-”

“You're kidding.”

“Sherlock.”

“Right, continue.”

“These are their projects for what we just covered. They were paired up and were assigned an Ancient Civilization from time period 2 and had to use what we call SPICE. It stands for social, political, interaction, culture, and economic. They have to write at least a paragraph worth of information about those topics. Now, I’m grading them.”

“Let me grade some,” Sherlock said scooting closer to John, his forearms resting on John’s desk.

“And what do _you_ know about Hellenstic Greece?” John asked, trying to outsmart Sherlock.

“Nothing but you'll be here so if something seems wrong, I'll ask you.”

“Fine. Here,” John said and he passed one to Sherlock making sure to give him a red pen and grading sheet as well. “Don't write on the project, only on the paper.”

Sherlock let out an overly dramatic sigh but smiled and began to read through the handwriting. Some facts made his eyebrow move over his forehead, some of them made him suddenly nervous asking John if they were right.

“How long did the Gupta Empire last?”

“230 years.”

Sherlock checked the date and nodded, checking a box on the grading sheet. From just reading these he learned a lot more than he normally would but he wanted more.

“So you just let them go off as discover things in their own?”

“In a sense, yes.” John lifted his head from its downwards position in grading and gestured in the air with his hand. “I let them feel comfortable with asking me questions, and I let them chat with their peers of course. There's a million and one ways to find dates and facts, it's just how much work they want to put forth.”

Sherlock smiled and looked back over at the students, one grabbing a book off of a shelf and turning to walk back to the desk.

“You just let them borrow books too?”

“Yeah, why restrict learning? Let them gather information from as many primary sources as they can before turning to the textbooks.”

Sherlock couldn't argue with that and continued on grading, asking John about certain things every so often. The class period passed by, students hesitant to walk up to John's desk since Sherlock was right next to him.

“U-Uh...Dr. Watson…?” A girl asked.

“Yes?” He ask in a clear, normal voice.

The girl started to ease into her standing position, walking closer to show him the paper he’d given them. As she stepped closer, Sherlock's eyes flickered up, a look of sheer panic washing across the girl's face before looking back at John.

“Could you explain question 12 a little more? I don't think I understand.” Her voice a little shaky.

John moved his hands from the project he was working on and grabbed a hold of the paper in her hand. He smiled as he read, sending a calming feeling to the girl who still looked visibly stressed.

“What other internal and external factors contributed to the collapse of the Roman and Chinese empires? Well,” He started. The girl leaned into John’s desk as if that would make her understand better. “How big was the Roman empire?”

“Huge,” the girl responded. Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the obvious and considerably bland answer. He thought John might get into her about that.

“Exactly!” John said, Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowing. “It was a vastly wide empire with lots of people, thousands in Alexandria alone. And what do all people need to live?”

“Food...uh, resources and things like that.” The girl replied, a little more confident in her answers.

“So all people need food, that makes for lots of competition, inside and outside of the empire. Also remember that no one in Rome was quite....um- united because of the huge divide in social classes and spread of Christianity.” The girl scribbling down all that John was saying. “Now in China, during the Han Dynasty, many rich families refused to pay…?”

“Taxes!” The girl said, her eyes brightening, something Sherlock had never seen his students do.

“Yes!” John said as he praised the girl. “Peasants eventually got angry at the more that they in turn had to pay so a rebellion happened-” John slightly paused to make the girl give a response.

“The-uhh, The Yellow Turban Rebellion, right?”

“Excellent. Think you got it now?” John asked.

“Yes! Thank you Dr. Watson,” The girl said as she skipped happily to her desk, pride carrying her as she went.

Sherlock watched as John casually went back to grading, the wheels of his brain turning in thought. He smiled and looked back down at the project, although the handwriting was horrible. He tapped John on the shoulder and asked him what a couple words meant, he wondered if John could read hieroglyphics.

Sherlock could sense a slight uproar in the noise level, the students starting to slowly pack away their things. He checked the clock, the class still had 11 minutes to go. John was making no effort to try and stop them, in fact, Sherlock deduced that John was letting them do this. Sherlock would never let his students do such a thing in his lab but he didn’t say anything, he was only here to observe.

The bell eventually rang and all the students filed out until it was just John and Sherlock in the classroom. Sherlock straightened his spine and cleared his throat, John hadn't seemed to notice that it was only them left. John looked up as his eyes quickly scanned the room.

“Oh,” He chuckled as he shuffled his papers around. As he did so, he realized that his elbow had been resting against Sherlock's. John turned his head and saw how close they were actually sitting. His eyes locked with Sherlock's for what seemed like ages. He could pick out tiny green and silver patched within Sherlock's blue eyes, his mouth slipping ajar.

John cleared his throat and stood up, gesturing Sherlock to move and let him walk by. Sherlock sat up again and stood, walking towards the open door.

“I learned a lot of things today, John. Not just about History but about...how to-uh, handle others.” Sherlock said stuffing his hands into his pants pocket.

“Really?” John asked as he made his way around his desk. “That's good, really it is. There's always room for improvement-”

“But now you'll see how I run my classes.” Sherlock said locking eyes with John.

John swallowed and nodded his head, “Yes, yes I will.”

With that, Sherlock turned and exited the classroom. John grabbed for his keys on his desk and made way towards the door. An excited warmth started in his chest, something about him really wanting to see Sherlock in action. Throughout his time at Baker Street, teachers and students alike have all strayed away from the chemistry teacher. All except him and Molly.

Teachers, such as John, didn’t like how demanding he was of the students and how all of them started to rip at the seams because of his class. Students never really voiced their opinions to John, but from what he’s gathered the intensity of AP chemistry with Sherlock was definitely a force to be reckoned with. He once heard from one of his students that it was like diving head first into a pool that, a millisecond before you hit it, turned into solid ice.

\------------

  
When the next semester came around, John was thankful his schedule lined up in time with Sherlock's this time because he didn't want to make a grand entrance like Sherlock did. He showed up before the students, Sherlock showing him to an empty lab table at the back of the room, next to the labs closet, safety shower, and a large tan filing cabinet. Sherlock busied himself at the board, numbers letters and symbols linked together and it all made John's head spin. The thing his eyes focused on instead were how swiftly Sherlock's shoulder blades moved under his almost silk-like shirt. The constant tapping of marker to board rang throughout the classroom.

He was never good at math and that was exactly what the numbers looked like; a long, complicated, stretched out math problem. Students silently slinked in the door, a couple taking notice of John who fidgeted on a very uncomfortable stool. The class started to fill and John saw a couple of students he had, they suddenly had a reason to be tired and not as active in his class. Sherlock exited the room, probably to stand outside and examine each student upon entering.

Students who had Sherlock before knew what to do, get out their journals and start figuring out whatever he'd written on the board. Others sat their, expression similar to John's. They could sense the tension in the air but didn't feel like addressing it. The bell rang and the last student shuffled in, quickly going to their seat and sitting down.

Sherlock, as dramatic as he naturally was, closed the door as he entered. “By now, you already have a work schedule that is effective, I’m not Anderson, I won't force you to conform to one, do what you want. However, if you don't have one that effectively works, get out of my class because it is more than certain that you will fail.”

“Jesus,” John whispered to himself. He said it so lightly, it couldn't even be heard through the now piercing silence.

Sherlock made no attempt to make eye contact with him or the students before continuing before continuing. “Get out your journals and turn to the next available space. Start working out what I’ve done on the board,” a slightly accent hinting when he said some words. He made his way from the front of the room towards John. He was about to brush past him when John stopped him.

“Are you, by chance, from Britain?” John asked.

“Yes, the accent comes out at times. Working on that,” Sherlock said nodding his head. He continued on just a little and thumbed through the filing cabinet.

“No, I like it. Why are you trying to lose it?”

Sherlock could feel a heat wave wash over his entire body, being happy he was facing away from John. “Uh-thank you.”

The chemistry teacher grabbed a set of papers and neatly tapped them onto the top of the cabinet, shutting the drawer, and pacing back to the students. He handed them out and babbled on about instructions, using words and vocabulary that John didn't understand. Most of the students glaring at each other as Sherlock explained.

‘Polymeri-what? Amphoteric-who?’ John thought, his mind trying its hardest to understand. He only somewhat remembered how to read the periodic table, a large one splayed on the back wall of the lab. He tried to remember back to his high school days but the one word he kept thinking of was ‘avacado’ and that couldn't of been right.

The rest of the time went by in complete and utter silence, other than Sherlock explaining things and occasionally actually answering some students questions, if they were bold enough to ask. Most of the time, he’d reply with a smart-ass answer, in John’s opinion, and left the student dangling. John noticed he'd almost always leave the students to figure everything out, a more advanced level of do it yourself.

Sherlock was sitting on the black and white couch, fiddling with a blue pen as he read something John couldn't see. Suddenly he watched Sherlock's arm cock backwards and throw the pen, hitting a student directly in the shoulder.

“Mister Smith, stop staring at the wall, it's not going to give you the answer to number two.” He said, his voice flat.

The student nodded his head as if to agree with Sherlock and sighed, looking back at his paper and picking his calculator up again. John raised his eyebrow, that was an odd way to motivating your students other than threatening them, an option Sherlock was arguably better at.

John found himself slightly zoning out, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, something he remembered he did a lot of in actual chemistry. He was snapped out of his lucid trance in fear he might get a pen to the face, when music suddenly filled the lab’s atmosphere. He instantly knew what it was, it was Sherlock playing his violin. His students didn't seem to mind, most of them buried deep within their calculators anyway. John looked over at the music stand when the music stopped, Sherlock was scribbling notes down and looking them over.

‘You learn something new about this guy every day,’ John thought. He hadn't noticed that he'd been staring at Sherlock. His elbow leaning on the table and supporting his head that was tilted towards Sherlock. The music picked up again as Sherlock set his violin back in place, this time it sounded much more loving, something that made John’s heart skip a beat.

\----------------------

The semester fluttered through into February, Sherlock and John going along with it. The experiment that Sherlock had initially planned with his and John’s teaching strategies had slowly started to fade. Now, John sat in Sherlock's lab just because he liked being around the man, he loved hearing the music he always seemed to be composing but never finished. John still didn't know boo about chemistry but the numbers didn't seem as confusing when Sherlock's deep and sultry voice explained them to him, John nodding mindlessly.

Sherlock seemed to migrate closer to John during the history class. He seemed content with the constant noise level now and would sit in John's chair when he stood up to give a lecture. A powerpoint would be displayed in the front and John would pace the carpet, mostly speaking from himself instead of reading off the powerpoint, something Sherlock admired about him. When he added the occasional joke, the class along with Sherlock would laugh.

Sherlock genuinely laughed.

When he laughed, it seemed like he had opened a door that John never knew was built. When he smiled, it seemed like he had magically flipped all the lights on. John found himself growing more and more fond of Sherlock, and he didn't quite know how to feel about it.

John was sitting in his class, waiting for them and Sherlock, when one of his students walked in.

“Dr. Watson, I got a full eight-hours of sleep.” He said as he walked in and took a seat.

“Do you not usually?” John asked, his gaze following the student.

“Are you kidding? With Mr. Holmes class, I'm usually up till three in the morning. Now? I feel great-”

“Me too,” Another student said as she walked in.

John nodded his head and started to fiddle with his computer, he needed to take roll once class started. He watched the mouse as it opened a tab and he typed in his school username and password, completely aware of the heavier set of footsteps that made their way closer to his desk. John felt them swiftly go behind him and stop a little to his left.

“Hello John,” Sherlock said as he set his bag down. He pulled out a fancy and sleek 2-in-1 laptop and began to mimic John’s actions in typing on the loud keyboard.

“Thank you Sherlock,” John said now turning his head to meet eyes with the brunet. Sherlock’s purple shirt shimmered even though the lights of the school building were dull and old.

“For what?”

“I don’t know what you’ve done to the students, but thank you.” A smile started to grow onto John’s face, his cheeks and eyes lighting up with satisfaction.

Sherlock didn’t respond but instead just bumped his elbow against John’s, breathing out harmoniously from his nose. The bell rang and the noise level of the classroom began to slowly incline. Three beeps came from the speaker and all students silenced as they listened to the announcement, done by a student because Mrs. Hudson didn’t know how to work the microphone.

“Student Council will be taking ideas for the upcoming Valentine’s Dance, also make sure you cast vote for which teachers you want to be there. Any and all questions about the dance go to Ms. Donovan in Room #156-”

“We should vote for Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes!” One of the students exclaimed over the girl on the speaker.

Both teachers looked up when they heard their name, both not fully understanding entirely what was being said. An uproar came from the students, all agreeing and nodding their heads. Many of them were tossing around plans and texting group chats at the same time, the conflagration starting to spread.

“Wait, what are you doing?” John asked, the class growing instantly quiet as their attention was now on the two teachers sitting very close to each other. Sherlock felt a heat wave wash over him again, causing him to casually duck down and shuffle around in his bag for a paper that didn't exist. John started to turn a little pink as the wheels in his mind starting turning, connecting what was just said on the announcements to the class staring at him and Sherlock.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to know! Get back to work or I’ll make all of you copy your textbook word for word!” John threatened. The class started to laugh, all of them turning back to each other and away from the teachers.

“That’s how you punish them?” Sherlock asked, turning casually back around.

“I’ve never actually had them do it,” John admitted, smiling at Sherlock who’d gone back to his laptop, pearing at John from over the top.

\-------  
  
“That’s the fastest results I’ve ever gotten before for anything,” Ms. Donovan said to John in the teacher’s lounge. “You’re sure you’re okay with chaperoning with the Freak? I can call someone last minute-”

“He’s not a freak!” John protested as he reached for the coffee creamer. The two stood and chatted at the counter that held an assortment of sugars, creamers, and straws for coffee. John furrowed his brow as he spoke, “He’s just a little different...complicated…”

“Now he is. Before you, no one had the nerve…-the courage to say something to him. That was until the old history teacher quit- I imagine you’ve heard this already?” Ms. Donovan gestured her right hand to John in a circular motion.

“Yeah,” John said as he mixed his coffee, the different shades of brown colliding with each other, appearing like that of a colorful smoke.

“Well, I’m glad he’s teaching differently now. The students seem happier now- like I said, those are the fastest students have ever cast votes. Even kids who’ve never voted before did,” Ms. Donovan furrowed her bows and gave the wall across the room a confused look.

John smiled and tossed his coffee straw into a nearby trash can, walking towards the door. He bid Ms. Donovan goodbye and exited the lounge, his shoes thudding lightly on the school’s floor. He brought the coffee up to his lips and sipped the still very hot beverage, the caffeine slipping it's way down his throats and landing in the well of his stomach, energizing John on that Friday morning.

The dance was that day so John wore a bright red sweater for the occasion. It was still frigidly cold outside and the school’s heater only worked half the time.

Instead of walking up the stairs and going all the way down the hall, John stopped by Sherlock’s lab to poke his head in and see what the chemistry teacher was up too. The giant glass windows in front of the stairs still showed a darkened sky, with tints of a bright blue, but John knew Sherlock would still be there. Sherlock had taken John’s idea about tutoring kids outside of school.

Sure enough, the lab door hung wide open with a door-stopper propping it open. A sweet scent poured from the room, John guess caramel or something very close to it. He walked in and saw Sherlock in the very corner, sitting on his desk, legs criss-crossed, flipping through a thick stack of papers. His eyes would glaze over it, appear to be reading, then toss it to the ground where another stack lay except this one was more haphazard.

John glanced at the board, a long series of numbers and letters, C8H11NO2 + C10H12N2O + C43H66N12O12S2, written in red dry-erase marker.

“What does this mean?” John asked, pointing to the equation with his free hand.

Sherlock looked up from his stack and jumped off of the desk, setting down the stack in his hand. He walked up to the board, a slight spring in his step, and grabbed a black marker, unscrewing the cap that made a tiny squeaking sound.

“This-” He underlined the first set of numbers, “-is Dopamine. This-” He underlined the second set of numbers, “-is Seratonin. And this-” He underlined the last set of numbers, “-is Oxytonin. Together, they made the chemical formula for Love.”

“Love isn’t a chemical.” John stated, a slight scoff escaping his mouth.

“Ah no, it isn’t. These are just the hormones and endorphins your body releases when you’re ‘in love’.” Sherlock said, pushing back on the cap.

“Cute,” John said, his head nodding back and forth. He looked up at Sherlock, who just smiled back at him again. They held this eye-contact for a while, both men not exactly knowing what to say. John looked away as soon as he felt his eyes flicker to Sherlock’s slightly ajar mouth.

“The dance starts at 6:30 right?”

“Uh-...yes I think so. That’s what one of my students told me anyways.” Sherlock said walking back over to his stack of papers.

“You actually talk to your students?” John asked sarcastically.

“Yes, yes I do.” Sherlock said, turning his head and playfully glaring at John. He bent over and collected the wild mess of papers, John trying not to stare.

“I’ll help you,” John said after a few seconds of watching the man struggle. He set his coffee on a table and bent down next to Sherlock, not paying attention to how close they were. He stood up and set the few in his hand on the table. “What are these about anyway-”

“An article about how Germanium’s semiconducting, optical properties when used under pressure can be used for energy technologies.” Sherlock replied a little too fast for comfort. John didn’t question it, Sherlock being thankful for that. He was also thankful that all the papers were facing downwards.

Sherlock gathered up the remains from the floor and stood up, suddenly inches away from John’s face. The two seemed to stop breathing, both turning slightly pink. Sherlock heard footsteps but it was too late, a student had stepped into his room.

“Mr. Holmes, yo-...” They stopped their sentence when they saw John and Sherlock. “I’LL COME BACK LATER.” The student took off running out of the room.

John stepped back from Sherlock and straightened himself out. His eyes tried to look everywhere in the room but in front of him as he cleared his throat. Sherlock made no attempt to move from his spot but John quickly paced to the table that held his now cold coffee.

“I’ll-um...get going. See you later Sher,” John stuttered as he walked out of the room.

Once he was out, Sherlock stared at the wall for what seemed like forever. The student crept back in after seeing John had left and seemed to be very careful as to what they were to say next. But Sherlock didn’t care. Sherlock felt like he had ascended into a soft ecstasy. His eyes fixed off the wall and onto the student who now looked confused.

“Yes, what did you need help on again?” Sherlock asked, his voice upbeat. Moving out of his seemingly statute position, he put his hands in his pockets and faced the student.

“You’re not going to do anything?”

“No,” Sherlock said as he turned and taking his hands out of his pockets, neatened up the pile of papers behind him. “Why do you want me to?”

“No!” The student said before setting their things down and unzipping their bag, getting out their journal and practice worksheets.

-

John moved his way through the sea of students, most laughing and giggling and totally ignoring anyone that was relevant to them in that moment. Music pumped through the air as harsh washes of red, pink, and white flooded over the cafeteria floor, courtesy of the Theater Program. The punch table moved further away from John as he cross the floor, back towards the red drink that laced every student's breath. Some had suspectedly spiked their drinks but John was too lazy to find if it was true or the culprit behind it, for his mind more focused on if the kids got home safely.

Sherlock was standing in front of John’s field of vision, his velvet, wine colored shirt emitting a different, more voluptuous vibe. His head turned sideways, talking to the class president who was being swept away by another student. Sherlock turned his head back, his eyes locking onto John as he made his way back. John felt a wave of heat and excitement wash over him, thanking whoever decided to use red lights tonight. He then remembered he had two drinks in his hand, his entire focus on him being able to make it to Sherlock without spilling them like a complete idiot.

He managed to do pretty okay.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said as he reached for the cup, his and John’s fingers grazing past each other.

John just nodded his head, both to the response and to the music, a pop song he's heard recently. It was a woman's voice, the beat of the music carried heavily with her vocals.

He looked up at Sherlock who seemed to be enjoying his surroundings, John was shocked he didn't complain about the noise level. Although, he hasn't done that as of recently in John’s class, Sherlock's class stays at a very low whisper.

“I never went to these,” John admitted to Sherlock, his free hand gesturing to the party.

Sherlock's expression immediately turned between a cross of shock, confusion, and wonder. “Really?”

“Really,” John said. “All the guys would go, their girlfriends would drag them along. I preferred being at home with my dogs, probably reading or something…guess I was a little different.” John took a sip of the punch, it being a little too sweet for John's taste.

“I didn't take you for the different type,” Sherlock said, his actions mimicking John’s

“I hang out with you, of course I’m different!”

Both men laughed at that, John's cheeks started to burn from smiling so much. As the night went on, that became John's biggest problem, how much his cheeks hurt from constant smiling and laughing with Sherlock. The two teacher clung mostly to the wall, neither of them paying much attention to the students, which is probably why they chose them to chaperone.

  
After a couple hours, there were no more students in the cafeteria, a quiet lull filled the empty space. The DJ had packed up and gone home, now it was Sherlock and John helping the custodians clean up. John had made sure to turn off the blaring red lights, however provocative Sherlock appeared in them. A buzzing of the normal school lights hummed from the ceiling.

John turned and spotted a red cup on a table, throwing it into the trash. He'd figured his work here was done, as Sherlock had just finished the last of clearing the cafeteria of any remains of a party.

“Well that was fun,” John said, his voice ricocheting gently off the walls.

“Yeah, I had a fun time.” Sherlock clapped his hands together and followed John as they started to migrate to the front of the building.

“Have any plans for the Monday that we have off this weekend?” John asked, trying to keep the conversation going. He loved not only talking to Sherlock, but hearing the other man's voice as well.

“Not particularly. My family isn't too keen on Valentine's Day, so I’ll just spend it alone probably- which is okay with me. I don't mean to say that to make you feel bad or anything.” The accent that John much adored slipped into more of Sherlock's words.

“No, no, I get it. I’m probably gonna spend it like that too.” John said, smiling at the fact that Sherlock was being himself around him.

At this point, the couple had made their way out of the front metal doors and walked out into the brisk night. School street lamps illuminated their path, both teachers parking in the same section. The concrete felt hard under John’s shoes, a weird weighted feeling suddenly filling himself and the air space around him. He looked up at Sherlock and almost forgot how to breath. Sherlock's ebony curls seemed to extend down into his face, a shadow but nonetheless beautiful. The shirt, tucked underneath his obnoxiously cute coat, shimmered in the light, similar to that of new ribbon. Something shined onto Sherlock's eyes, the glare making the blue more significant, and John couldn't tell if it was from the lamps or an actual star in the sky.

Whatever it was, it made John want to stare at Sherlock for hours. The other man's captivating aura seemed to swallow John’s focus entirely, until he couldn't stand it anymore.

“We should do something then, that is if you don't have plans-”

“That'd be lovely,” Sherlock replied, smirking down at John.

The two stopped underneath a lamp, the next step would lead John into the street and eventually into the parking lot. They stood comfortably close to each other on the sidewalk, a shadow cast down and around them as they stood. John was about to ask another question, anything to hear Sherlock's words lace their way through the air and into John's ear, but instead he felt himself migrate slowly to the taller man.

He rocked on his toes until he could feel the chemistry teachers breath dancing on his upper lip. Sherlock's hands grasping John by his sides, keeping him in place and from falling into Sherlock. This close to Sherlock’s face, the doctor could feel his heart rate jump as he breath became increasingly unsteady. A blush started to rise on the apples of Sherlock cheeks, something John’s never seen before.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” John whispered as his hands curled around the back of Sherlock's neck, the other cupping his cheek.

Feeling John cradle him like that made Sherlock suddenly forget everything rational. The only thoughts running through his mind was, a habit he needed to desperately break, the order of the elements of the periodic table. A complete chemical chaos.

‘Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon-’ Sherlock quickly tried veering his mind away from the endless string of elements because he could now see tiny hints of gold in John’s eyes and wondered if the percent composition of gold in John was 100%.

Sherlock let out a shaky,” No.”

With that, John smiled as he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, signals of shock and pleasure filling the taller teacher. He could feel John’s nose gently push against his face, he loved being this close to him. Sherlock didn't know what to do but decided to move, or do something at least. Parting his lips, he left himself be surrounded by the soft, plushness of John’s mouth.

Lingering scents of John's cologne licked their way through Sherlock as he remembered to breath because he didn't want this to end at all. He felt John’s tongue push up against his, a tingling sensation rushing down his spine and across his body. Sherlock knew John probably felt a small patch of goosebumps as his hands melted into Sherlock's skin, but he was to in the moment to care.

He managed to pull John closer to him, his hands pressing softly into his back. John pulled away and caught his breath, staring ardently at the other, leaving Sherlock with a clinging taste of punch and peppermint.

“No one’s ever kissed you before?” John asked again, his teeth showing in his smile.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and ran a hand through John’s hair, the shorter man leaning into his touch. “It is what it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://queersunflowers.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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